Columns

Duane Whitley was a good man. Everyone said so. Last Tuesday afternoon I sat on a pew in First Baptist Church and listened to his family talk about so many of his good deeds that they’d experienced. That day I glimpsed a side of him that I’d not seen before. I knew him from attending church with him Sunday after Sunday. We always exchanged smiles and a few words. Sometimes we sat down and shared a meal in the social hall. Everybody knows that we Baptists do love to eat. We were you might say church family for many a year and then came the event that gave me an opportunity to know him better—to spend some time talking and laughing.

You see, First Baptist decided several years ago to build a city out back—the city of Bethlehem, to be exact. Our vision was to create a small model of the place where Jesus was born and lead people on tours through the city from his birthplace in the stable all the way to the cross. Inside the city were tradespeople - fishmongers, fruit vendors, a tax collector, carpenters, inn keepers, a rabbi in a temple, and many, many more. The tours began at the front gate and tour guides lead groups of people through, carefully avoiding the Roman soldiers who were milling about the whole city, shouting threats and waving swords. Children and chickens...

There is little doubt that virtually every man who wears the “I’m a Christian” title will assert that God made him the head of his household. To some extent, that would be true but it’s not to be received as a position awarded without great responsibility. Unfortunately, most have a grossly misguided perception that the Creator handed the man unbridled authority over his wife and children. In fact, nothing could be farther from the truth as scripture specifies in I Corinthians 11:3 (KJV), “But I want you to realize that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of the woman is man, and the head of Christ is God.”

So, the prospect of a man “ruling” his house by way of tactics facilitating fear and intimidation is ungodly to say the least. In fact, the role of the husband is designed to emulate Christ’s relationship to His bride, the church. As He gave His life for the church that those who believe on Him might inherit eternal life, so should a husband be willing to sacrifice for the sake of his wife and children. The role of the husband, therefore, is that of a leader, provider/protector, and a companion to his wife.

Many in today’s society would rather debunk the concept of men being leaders of their wives simply because the worldly understanding doesn’t line up with that of a biblical premise. In spiritual terms, to be a leader lends to the basic notion of influence and not one of control as implied by most that are in disagreement of the ideology. Given that, a husband is not to behave as dictator but should exhibit a biblical influence in governing his household.

Just as Christ isn’t abusive, harsh, or domineering in His behavior toward the church, a husband is to manage his house in a gentle manner. Ephesians 5:28-29 (KJV) states “So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth.” Considering this factor, it’s a matter that the benefit of a biblically guided husband is a spiritually grounded wife and solid family unit. As a family, they should then example behaviors that glorify God.

As a provider and protector, both physically and spiritually, a husband is best suited to effectively influence/lead his wife and household. This is a responsibility that couldn’t be carried out if a husband’s wife has no respect for him. The book of Colossians 3:19 (KJV) states, “Husbands, love your wives and do not...

Christmas is coming. Before this newspaper arrives in your mailbox again, Christmas with all the trees, presents, lights, and mistletoe will have come and gone. The ham will have been eaten, along with Grandma’s macaroni and cheese, pumpkin and pecan pies, and the $30 fruitcake. Most family members will have departed to return to their regular lives. Only the memories will linger.

Last week when the strains of “Good King Wenceslas” filled my car, I was transported immediately back to my childhood. My record player sat on the floor beside my bed so I could reach it without getting out from under my warm covers. Only one arm had to come out from under my quilt long enough to restart the record spinning there on the turntable. I played the song hundreds of times. Even though I had plenty others, “Good King Wenceslas” was my favorite. The minute I woke up, I started the song and continued to listen to it until Mama made me get up to wash dishes in the kitchen.

On Christmas mornings I always awoke to the smell of both ham and turkey roasting. Mama’d put them in at 4:00 in the morning so the oven would be available by 10 a.m. for baking dressing and various casseroles. I was the eternal, perpetual, timeless dishwasher. While Mama dirtied the dishes, I washed them. My sister didn’t do dishes, and my father—well, back in the fifties, men didn’t do housework of any kind. Daddy sat in his recliner and read the...

The little snap of frosty weather came tripping by a couple of weeks ago and froze the rest my flowers that we hadn’t taken inside. We stored as many as possible in the house beforehand. My son tells me that houseplants make the air healthy; if so, we are in great shape for the winter.

During the weekend when the temperatures rose again to a comfortable level, we opened up every single window in the whole house and let the fresh air flow in. The dogs checked the outside view from each window. Along with the nice breeze, quite a few sounds wafted in, too, some that I hadn’t noticed in a long time. Suddenly, the dogs were running up and down the hall barking at the train, which was whistling its merry way down the track about a mile away. It didn’t sound like a mile away. The dogs thought it was in the living room, and for a few minutes I wasn’t so sure myself. We all breathed a sigh of relief when it passed on by.

Next, I heard the wind rustling the big sycamore leaves that still cling to the tree out front. I went out, sat on the bench underneath the tree and listened. A pleasant sound indeed teased my ears as the wind ruffled my hair. The leaves that fell darted across the yard like playful puppies, tagging one, tripping over another, and falling down among their crackly peers. I wish some children were here to play with them. What child turns down an opportunity to play in fallen leaves? I could probably be enticed to rake a few piles if they were here. However, they aren’t, so . . . .

We enjoyed the sounds and smells so much that we decided to leave the windows open all Saturday night. The weather channel promised lows in the 60s and little, if any, rain. That night I lay on the bed reading when I heard a strange and eerie sound outside...

One of the most interesting things to do is simply observe people; watch their behaviors and see how various situations alter attitudes that sometimes seem to take on personalities of their own. This was the case Thursday of last week when a relatively “seasoned” individual, (Ms. Tina for the sake of reference) encountered a rather challenging issue that resulted with her, quite literally, coming unglued.

An acquaintance of several years (call her Ms. Sheri) noted she rode with a friend to a restaurant about mid-day as the woman had invited her to have lunch. While the two of them were seated in the eatery, Sheri stated, it became apparent that Ms. Tina’s SUV was no longer parked where it had been left. The owner of the vehicle promptly moved from her seat and exited the restaurant to discover a tow truck driver attempting to maneuver across an adjacent parking lot.

When Ms. Tina approached the comparably younger driver of the tow truck regarding the issue as to why he was towing her car, as much information as he’d disclose was the amount she would have to pay in order to facilitate him leaving the SUV. Ms. Sheri noted her most immediate concern at that moment was retrieving personal properties that had been inadvertently left in the vehicle which included a purse and identification, money and house keys.

According to Ms. Sheri, it struck her rather odd that Ms. Tina appeared to have all but shut down given the circumstances and refused to give the tow truck operator the keys. He’d already loaded the SUV and, understandably, would only access it if provided the keys to unlock the door. Apparently, Ms. Tina thought maintaining control of the ...

Larry and I prefer our entertainment local and in an easy chair, for the most part. We rarely even go out to eat or to a movie, but Saturday morning found us Atlanta bound. We’d been warned.

“This is no time to go to Atlanta,” a friend told me in Walmart. “The weather’s supposed to be terrible. You might get stuck up there.”
I suppose there are worse things than getting stuck in Atlanta. I’m not sure, but I was sure we were going.

Jakey, our 14-year-old grandson was to be confirmed and baptized. Also, a concert we couldn’t resist would take place on Sunday afternoon. The youth choir at the Peachtree Presbyterian Church was performing, and we intended to be there. We didn’t find out until Thursday night that Atlanta was calling, and we had to make some arrangements before we could leave. That’s how it works when you have fur babies in the family. My regular puppy sitter was unavailable, so I had to scrounge a bit, but it all worked out. I also had to make a mad dash to Tractor Supply for Charlie food. It seems that any time we start to leave town, Charlie is always out of his EXPENSIVE food.

As we drove north, we noticed the temperature dropping. The overcast sky didn’t help a bit, but at least there was no rain—not until we got to Dublin, that is. As I pulled onto the I-16 entry ramp, rain sprinkled the windshield. In Macon, the sprinkle turned rapidly into a downpour and stayed with us the rest of the way. We had coats of course and thought we were ready for the onslaught of the wet, cold weather. As the temperature readout in the car dropped into the upper 40s, I kept wishing I’d worn my jacket rather than thrown it in the back seat. They tell me hindsight is 20/20.

We spent the early part of Saturday night on the couch near the crackling fire. Occasionally, we’d stop to add a log to the fire. Outside the rain splattered against the big windows and the wind howled through the trees’ bare limbs, but we hardly noticed the foul weather. The heat of conversation and company warmed us as much as...

My recent conversation with Gov. Nathan Deal covered a lot of ground. In last week’s column, we talked about some of his accomplishments over the past eight years of which he is most proud, including criminal justice reform that is a model for the nation. We talked about the HOPE Grant, a scholarship that pays 100 percent of tuition for students to attend technical colleges to learn skills that are in high demand for GeorgiaÕs workforce in 17 programs of study from automotive technology to computer technology, welding, practical nursing and even movie production set design.

To say the program has been a rousing success is an understatement. 88.4 percent of students who receive the HOPE Career Grant find job placement in their fields upon graduation, and 99.2 percent overall find job placement of some kind upon completion of the certificate.

We talked about The REACH (Realizing Educational Achievement Can Happen) Scholarship Program, a needs-based mentorship and scholarship program started in 2012 to encourage middle school students from low-income families to graduate from high school and be prepared for the 21st-century workforce. Students and their parents/guardians must sign contracts agreeing to maintain the minimum GPA, have regular school attendance and meet with mentor-coaches.

For those in the program, unexcused absences have dropped by 30 percent and disciplinary infractions have dropped by 60 percent, on average. This year, the REACH Georgia Program will serve 134 school systems and nearly 1,800 students.

We talked about the Legislature finally funding Georgia K-12 Quality Basic Education Act after its initial passage more than three decades ago. We talked about the fact that the governor has appointed more judges to the bench in Georgia that any governor in the state’s history. We talked about his veto of the religious freedom bill and the restoration of the tax cut to Delta Air Lines and a bunch of other stuff.

Finally, it was time to talk about the man, Nathan Deal. For the first time in over 40 years, he isn’t going to be in the political spotlight. For the first time since 2010, he isn’t going to be the chief executive of the eighth most populous state in the nation.

What is he going to miss most? “I can tell you what I won’t miss,” he said, “I won’t miss the crisis phone calls. I will enjoy the absence of pressure for a change.”

How about hobbies? The governor said, “I don’t play golf and I don’t do much hunting, but I like being out on the land. I love to fish.” He said he might even try his hand at fly-fishing. He should have plenty of opportunities for that. North Georgia has some spectacular trout streams and some spectacular trout to go with them.

Does a boy growing up in Sandersville think that someday he might like to be governor of Georgia? “Not at all,” he said, “There was a period of time that I intended to be a veterinarian.” That changed when his mother got him involved in public speaking and he became so good at it that he and a group of Baptist teens won the state competition at Mercer University.

Gov. Deal said the environment at Mercer appealed to him and that led to his attending school there on a program which allowed him to fast-track into the study of law while still completing his undergraduate work. It was also at Mercer where he met fellow student Sandra Dunagan from Gainesville, whom he married and where he began his law practice while she taught school.

He was the county’s first full-time assistant district attorney, struck a lot of juries and got to know a lot of folks. When the opportunity came to run for state Senate in 1980, he took it and won. He served that part-time position for 12 years, becoming president pro-tem of the Senate. “Driving back and forth from Gainesville to Atlanta over those years was very wearying,” he recalls, “so when Congressman Ed Jenkins announced his retirement, I decided either get in politics full time or get out.” Deal won the congressional seat in 1993 and kept it until resigning to run for governor.

Deal is most enthused when talking about the role the first lady has played in his life and his career. As first lady, Ms. Deal has visited over 1,000 schools in all 180 school systems in Georgia’s 159 counties, promoting early childhood reading, as befits a former schoolteacher. “Sandra is not much for sitting around,” he said. “She likes to remind me that she travels the state by car and not by helicopter like the governor,” he laughs. “I remind her she could probably run for governor and win.”

I have known every governor - some better than others - since Ernest Vandiver in the late 1950s. I have liked some better than others. I like Nathan Deal. He is a good man who has been a good governor and done good things for his state, quietly and with dignity. May he enjoy his well-deserved retirement. He has earned it.

You can reach Dick Yarbrough at dick@dickyarbrough.com; at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, Georgia 31139 or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/dickyarb.

The actual names of individuals referenced in this column are seldom used but there are relatively rare cases when it’s not only appropriate, but also necessary. Last week, the son of a frequent contributor to The News-Banner, Ms. Rebecca Ogden, informed of a situation that really tested his faith in God. Mr. Darnell Johnson, a true believer who holds a position and devotes significant time to the church he and his wife attend in Atlanta, disclosed the specifics of what most would consider a bad situation.

It’s remarkable that many people hold to the misguided conception that Christians aren’t supposed to have any problems. Even some long-term believers are surprised when hardships come their way as though they expect a sort of immunity to trials after establishing a life in Christ. In truth however, the reality of the circumstances would have one understand that desiring to live a Christian lifestyle would make them a prime target for Satan. His job is simply to dissuade people from wanting to follow Jesus which, essentially, consists of him employing any means necessary to deter individuals from placing their faith in the Lord.

Darnell had been employed for a number of years in the housekeeping segment of Sunrise Senior Living Facility. It was made known to Mr. Johnson several weeks ago that the Maintenance Supervisor would be retiring and he was being considered for filling the position. As such, one of the regional supervisors...

Since before Halloween, stores have been putting out their Christmas merchandise. Red ribbons and silver bells along with trees of every shape, size, and color wait in the stores to decorate someone’s home. I actually saw a metallic purple tree in Savannah a few weeks ago. It was resplendent with pink lights and green ribbons. I won’t say I hated it, but I wouldn’t want it standing in my living room for the month of December—not even one day of it. I’m more a traditionalist myself. I want my old faithful ornaments that the children and grandchildren made or that we’ve collected over the years. I also like the ornaments that someone chose or made just for my family. Just today we added a handful of red Santas done in plastic canvas and filled with Hershey’s kisses. None of our ornaments are expensive. They have little monetary value, but to me they are priceless. I do like my Christmas tree.

So many people my age tell me that they no longer put up trees. It’s just too much trouble, they say, but I will put one up as long as I’m able to do it myself or convince someone to help me. My grandson Stuart is that someone right now. Every year he very loyally comes out and helps me stand it up. Putting the ornaments on is a labor of love.

I love the feeling of Christmas. People are nicer in December. Watch carefully as shoppers throw change or folded bills into the Salvation Army buckets. Groups visit the nursing homes and turn their attention to giving. We collect food for the disadvantaged and presents for needy children. The idea of Christmas reminds us to care for each other, to be the kind of people we should be year-round.

You and I both know you won’t see this letter, but that’s OK. I am going to feel better having written it. For one thing, it will confuse my friends and confound my enemies, many on both sides of the political spectrum who can’t seem to grasp the concept of middle ground. You must be either a rock-bound, hard-nosed, guns-everywhere-but-the-Georgia-State-Capitol conservative or a government-knows-best, open-the-borders-even-to-terrorists, boys-and-girls-share-the-same-bathroom left-leaning liberal. Believe it or not, a few of us are neither.

I wrote earlier suggesting you tone down the name-calling (particularly with late-night TV hosts who feed on that stuff – it’s called “ratings”) and was assured by one of your close confidants that the letter would get into the White House. I knew that was a crock. I’ve had some dealings with previous White House administrations. That letter ended up in the hands of some junior functionary who has never even seen you in person, let alone delivered you a letter.

But it is the Christmas season and I am the gift that keeps on giving. So, I give you some more advice: Stop the name-calling. Please.

I’m not sure where you learned the art of insults, but I discovered it on the grammar school playground. I found out that if someone called me a name, I could retaliate by calling them a name. Conversely, if I disparaged a playmate, chances are they would disparage me, too. Sometimes, it would lead to fisticuffs. (Today, it would involve lawyers, the police, social workers and intonements about rampant bullying, but that’s a subject for another day.)

Thankfully, I grew out of that phase, although I have been known to digress occasionally on these pages and lay into some pompous soul that deserved it. But I am not the president. You are. You set the tone for the national mood and it is not good at the moment.

Name-calling seems to delight your base. It also encourages the other side to call you names and that delights their base. Back and forth it goes. I, for one, am not sure what all of that accomplishes other than to remember the old story about the guy who kept hitting himself in the head with the hammer. When asked why, he said because it felt so good when he stopped.

The irony is that in the midst of the cacophony, you have done some good things. Despite recent market corrections, stocks are at an all-time high.

Unemployment is close to an all-time low. You seem to have that guy with the bad haircut in North Korea thinking twice about running his mouth. While I’m no expert on the subject, I think your tariff strategies are going to work in the country’s favor. But you stay embroiled in controversy. Some of your making, some not.

You could do worse than look to Ronald Reagan as a role model. He had his fair share of fake news and partisan criticism to deal with, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He had a great sense of humor which he used effectively. He let people underestimate him at their own risk. Reagan didn’t belittle people. He managed to get the Berlin Wall torn down without insulting Russian premier Mikhail Gorbachev. When the nervous nellies in the State Department objected to the timing of his demands, he quietly reminded them who was president and who was not. And the wall came tumbling down.

My concern is that if the name-calling and insults on both sides continue, a lot of fair-minded people are going to get tired of it and seek an alternative — like a third party that is philosophically somewhere between guns in churches and boys and girls in each other’s bathrooms. When that happens, then will come coalitions as we have in Europe today and governing by a minority. That is a frightening prospect.

We are Americans first and political partisans second. There isn’t anyone among us that doesn’t want to see America great. We also want to see it unified. As one of your predecessors, Abraham Lincoln, said, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” (By the way, he got that from the Bible, Matthew 12:25, in case you are wondering.) Our house is badly divided these days.

If you want to make America great again, I would suggest you and your enemies put away the hammers and start trying to find some common ground. It’s Christmastime. Can’t we all get along? Please?

You can reach Dick Yarbrough at dick@dickyarbrough.com; at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, Georgia 31139 or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/dickyarb

A gentleman by the name of Troy (for the sake of reference) was meeting last week with the pastor of his church and a few other men as part of a weekly support group. They were all seated around an outdoor fire pit sharing respective experiences for that day. The pastor finally turned to Troy, “Do you have anything you want to share with the group about your day’s events?”

Troy’s response came across as rather brash and matter-of-fact, “This ain’t a good day to ask that question.” Most everyone in the group was somewhat taken aback by the seemingly harsh response. The pastor then asked what was troubling him but Troy declined to answer. That prompted the moderator to inquire as to why he’d bothered to attend the meeting while stressing the fact his participation was on a strictly voluntary basis.

As harsh as before, Troy replied, “Because you spoke to my wife earlier and asked her to tell me to bring some wood for the fire.” The baffled pastor then directed that it would have been as simple as Troy calling to let him know he’d not be attending the meeting that evening. It was explained that he’d contacted Troy’s wife and directed her to have him bring wood to allow the group a fire but his attendance wasn’t absolutely necessary. Troy confirmed he’d not planned to attend the meeting that evening due to struggling with a serious bout of ...

When I was younger, so much younger than today, I planned never to marry, but if I did, I promised myself that I’d never have children. Never, ever, ever. I wanted my freedom—freedom from responsibility of any kind. I’d wipe no runny noses, change no diapers, and worry about no one but me. I’d be my own woman, sufficient unto myself.

As I survey my Thanksgiving table in this year of our Lord 2018, I thank you, Lord, for my husband, my sons, and a family that loves me unconditionally. Never am I forced to walk life’s paths alone, even though I once thought I wanted to. For providing me with what I needed, not what I wanted, I thank you.
In my youth I rushed away from my small home town where ancient oaks lined the streets and people knew not only my name, but my parents’ and grandparents’ names as well. These people watched for 18 years as I grew from a baby in the stroller that Daddy pushed around town every afternoon into a fiercely independent young lady. I could hardly wait to leave those peaceful, quiet streets for the big city lights and anonymity. At full speed I ran, seeking my escape.

And yet today, I thank you, Lord, for this small community that I call home, nestled here in the flatlands of South Georgia. I roamed far and followed a wildly meandering path to...

Any mention of Thanksgiving — which I am about to mention — must first include a caveat that no one ever has or ever will write a Thanksgiving column like Furman Bisher, the late and great sports editor of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He owns that category like Ray Charles Robinson, of Albany, Georgia, owns “Georgia on my Mind.”

I am thankful for the times I spent with Furman and his wife, Lynda, in their home overlooking the marshes of St. Simons Island as we watched the sun set, enjoyed a crackling fire, an adult beverage and listened to stories of everybody from Ty Cobb and Shoeless Joe Jackson to Jack Nicklaus and Bobby Cox. He knew them all.

A few of his successors have attempted to replicate Bisher’s Thanksgiving column, but they have all turned out poor imitations. This one likely will be no better but it’s the thought that counts. Some of you will see this after Thanksgiving Day, but that is OK. I haven’t checked the rule book but I think it is permissible to be thankful all day, every day.

I am thankful I live in a country where we can dispute election results but don’t have to worry about tanks in the street. I pray that never changes.

I am thankful for an automobile that tells me how to get to where I am going, honks at me if I leave my keys in the car and warns me when my tires need air. All the stuff I used to have to do myself.

I am thankful for good health, particularly after a period in which I didn’t have it. I discovered I was not as invincible as I thought I was and hope I never forget how fragile life really is, particularly when it is your own.

I am thankful for our military and for our first responders, and I would hate to think of the world without them.

I am thankful for dogs that don’t bark just for the sake of barking. I have always thought that a dog’s IQ could be measured by how little it barks. And if it does bark, watch out because it means it.

I am thankful for people like state Sens. Lindsey Tippins of Cobb County and Jack Hill of Reidsville, two of the wise men in the Legislature. In these days of shout-down, camera-mugging ideological politics, they quietly and effectively do their jobs and give me faith that we can still get good people to run for public office.

I am thankful for my church and the people within who have loved and supported us through some dark days. My spiritual leader, Bill Burch, currently has the assignment of trying to lead me not into temptation but deliver me from evil. It is full-time work.

I am thankful for the chiming of the grandfather clock during the night. For reasons I don’t quite understand, it gives me reassurance that everything is OK and to go back to sleep.

I am thankful for our public school teachers. We expect them to shut the doors on society’s ills and teach kids how to read and write and think. Somehow, they do it despite of all the obstacles we put in their path and I thank God for them.

I am thankful for a family better than I deserve, including in-laws. They have taught me over the years that success isn’t measured in how many awards you win but in whether or not you have earned their love and respect. I think I have but I don’t know how.

I am thankful I have had an opportunity over the past 20 years to share my thoughts with you on everything from broccoli (I hate it) to the University of Georgia, the oldest state-chartered university in the nation, located in Athens, the Classic City of the South (I love it.) And that you tell me when you agree and when you disagree. I am also thankful to the editors who make it possible for us to meet like this.

Finally, thank you, Furman Bisher, for the inspiration for this column. You can rest easy, my friend, that I did my best but didn’t come close to your legendary Thanksgiving columns. For that, we can all be thankful.

You can reach Dick Yarbrough at dick@dickyarbrough.com; at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, Georgia 31139 or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/dickyarb

On my bedroom wall hangs a picture that has given me much pleasure over the years. When I walk by it, I can’t hold back the smile that automatically leaps to my face in response to the smiling boy in the picture. I’m so glad now that I let him talk me into having the picture drawn that hot July day at Six Flags.

The picture is a hand-drawn caricature of my youngest son, Josh, at twelve years old. The generous sprinkling of freckles almost matches his bright red hair, or the part of it that shows under the black baseball cap that perched forever on his head back then. His eyes are the bright blue of the sky behind him, and lively, beaming with excitement to be at Six Flags with his friend Jeremy and me. His full lips spread in a grin and he wears his Hard Rock Café tee shirt. A gold chain encircles his sunburned neck. The artist even captured his pug nose and the bit of shadow that drew a line in his hair from the cap’s bill.

Josh never grew weary of Six Flags during his childhood. He ignored the heat and long lines. This impatient child stood patiently waiting in the long lines and the heat to reach the ride of the moment, be it the Scream Machine, the Parachute, the Ninja, or the Flying Dutchman. He had no interest in the tamer rides. When I tried to talk him into the swamp ride that took us in a boat and through cool tunnels, he declined. Too babyish. He craved the excitement of flying down the curves of the tallest roller coaster or the breath-taking Free Fall.

During these days of “alternative facts” that have saturated the airwaves, internet and a variety of media outlets it’s becoming more and more difficult to understand what’s presented as truth. A person can no longer be held to their word as it is commonly accepted that whatever commitment is made simply doesn’t have to be honored. In fact, most people today don’t really expect that when someone gives their word there’s any real validity to the statement anyway.

There used to be a time when a man’s word was his “bond” and nothing would keep him from standing on that as it encompassed trust, dignity, respect, honor, and everything he represented. Men of old didn’t require contracts (many of them couldn’t read anyway) or paperwork notarized and witnessed as a simple handshake was standard in sealing a deal. It didn’t matter whether two gentlemen were agreeing on the sale of a cow, truck or an entire farm. Lawyers and pages of documents with a “bunch of fancy sounding words folk can’t half understand no way” simply weren’t necessary.

However, in today’s litigious society, the one person who’s guaranteed to make a good living is an attorney. Everything from property rights to inheritance requires the presence of an assigned legal expert. They’re required to interpret the intent of paperwork drawn up to expressly state specific facts as different individuals may have their own unique understanding of the documents.